The Capacity to Change
by the-valkyrie-writes
Summary: Written for Taragh McCarthy's "If Things Were Different" Competition on the HPFC forum. Tom Riddle didn't kill his father and father's family, setting him on a completely different path to his original fate. AU, becomes Bellamort.


**Hi all! Written for the "If Things Were Different competition" by Taragh McCarthy - my prompt was "Voldemort never became an evil wizard." I'm thinking this will be a 3-shot, so watch this space! :)**

**Disclaimer - I've used some quotes from the books here. All recognizable characters, settings and situations are property of JKR.**

July 1943

"I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin. "You look mighty like that Muggle."

Tom narrowed his eyes. This man was mad, wholly and utterly mad, he thought. But he had the Gaunt ring, he was Marvolo's son. He had to be a relation, didn't he? Tom thought back to Mrs Cole speaking to him at the orphanage.

"_You were called Tom Riddle after your father, and Marvolo after your grandfather. That's all she told me, before she... Before she died."_

"What Muggle?" Tom asked, slightly dreading the answer.

"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house of the way," said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him, Riddle. But he's older now, i'n 'e? He's older'n you, now, I think on it..."

Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support. "He come back, see," he added stupidly.

Tom looked at the man. He was swaying on his feet, clearly not in his right mind. But if he did know something about Tom's mother...

"Riddle came back?" Tom fought to keep his voice even, stepping towards the man, who was now looking quite ill.

"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"

Tom didn't say anything. The other man drew his knife and stabbed it into the grotty table next to him, raging, spit pooling at the edges of his mouth.

"Dishonoured us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit... it's over..." He looked away, staggering, and Tom took the opportunity to walk forward quickly, brandishing his wand.

"Expelliarmus." He said, quite calmly. The man's wand, which was made of elm, came flying into his hand, Morfin looking up with surprise which quickly turned to anger.

"How dare you, boy? You can't even be out of Hogwarts, you come here and disrespect a descendant of Slytherin himself, looking like that bloody Muggle... HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY WAND?" He raged.

"Stupefy." Tom said, quietly. There was a flash of red light, and the other man fell to the ground, frozen. Tom pocketed the wand and made his way to the door. He was about to leave when he realised something.

He, Tom Marvolo Riddle, was the Heir of Slytherin. He controlled the basilisk, opened the Chamber of Secrets. The Dark Arts whispered to him. He was descended from Salazar Slytherin. He went over to the filthy man on the floor, and wrenched the ring from his finger. A reminder of what he stood for. Marvolo Gaunt – his link to the pure line, mad though his children apparently were.

Merope Gaunt. That had been her name. His mother – he didn't know what to think. On the one hand, she had been a witch of pureblood heritage, descended from Slytherin himself, and he surely had her family to thank for his abilities.

But to fall for a Muggle? And then to die without even a care for your child? Tom shook his head in disgust. He could hardly believe he was descended from a _Muggle_.

He stormed out of the shack, and made his way back into the town of Little Hangleton. He'd changed into Muggle clothes, not wanting to be recognised by anybody or stand out.

He spoke to a passer-by, a Muggle woman, he noted with distaste, asking her the way to the Riddle House, and once she'd pointed him in the right direction, he set off. He could see the house from a distance – it was enormous and quite ostentatious.

He opened the gate and walked up the stone path to the front door. He was about to knock, before changing direction and going to look into one of the front windows. There, sat in the lounge, looking very proper, were a stern couple, a man and a woman wearing formal clothes.

They seemed to be saying something to a man who sat opposite them. Tom had a shock when the man turned sideways, as if to get up and leave, and Tom saw his face. He could have been his brother – he had the same eyes, the same hair, and the same facial structure.

It was like looking into a mirror. The man was, obviously, older than Tom. But he could have been his brother. Or his... father?

Tom was filled with a sense of disgust, disgust that his mother had _chosen _to have... relations with a Muggle, no matter how rich or handsome. He made up his mind. He knew what he was going to do.

He went back over to the door and knocked sharply. He heard activity inside the house and then _he _opened the door.

The man looked alarmed to see what looked like a younger version of himself standing on his doorstep.

"Who are you?" asked the older man.

"My name is Tom Riddle." replied Tom, a cold look in his eye. He was only 16 years old, but he could be threatening when he wanted to be.

"Is this a joke?" the older man said. "I am Tom Riddle."

"Tell me, Riddle, does the name Merope Gaunt mean anything to you?" asked the younger Tom, sneering at the Muggle who so clearly thought he was better than him.

The older man paled considerably. "Who put you up to this? She's mad, a witch, crazy! Don't speak about her to me!"

Tom snorted. _A witch is right_, he thought.

"I ought to kill you." said Tom, looking up at his father.

"What? Get out! Get away from this house and don't come back." said the older man, moving to close the door. Tom moved Morfin's wand almost imperceptibly, freezing the door in place. His father frowned, trying to close the door and failing.

"You know, that's not very polite, _father_." said Tom, a cold fury appearing on his face. "And a little rich for a grown man who still lives with his _parents_." He continued.

The older man looked down at him, aghast. "You're... You're _her _child. You're no son of mine!" He said, starting to shake.

"I'm _your_ child, you pathetic man!" shouted Tom, livid now.

"Thomas? What's going on out there?" came a woman's voice from inside the house.

"Crucio." whispered Tom, and he watched as his father writhed on the floor in agony. It was his fault, after all. His fault that he'd never had a proper childhood, his fault that he'd been teased, always alone.

Tom laughed. "I should kill you," He repeated, sustaining the curse. "But not today. Not today." He said. He stepped inside the house and pointed Morfin's wand at the elderly couple who were looking at him with horror in their eyes.

"Obliviate." He erased their memories of the incident, doing the same to his father, before giving him a kick as he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

He strode down the path, fuming. I should have killed them, he thought.

But he hadn't.

**Please review!**

**x Bea**


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